I don’t want to touch myself thinking of you. I don’t, but I can’t help it. I don’t want my hands to trace my body and make my torture without you all the more powerful. But I need it, and need you. This need for you won’t stop. It’s worse than thirst, worse than hunger, worse than fatigue. Because I can’t quench it. I’ve tried, but nothing will satisfy me but you. I don’t want to touch. It’s useless to do it, I can’t finish, it only makes my torture worse. But I NEED it. I don’t want the fantasy to form in my mind, I don’t want to dirty you with my thoughts. I contradict myself. I can’t stop my hands from fisting in my hair, gripping my neck, caressing my breasts, traveling downward… It’s like they aren’t even my own hands, they disobey me. They don’t listen to me and what I want, they know better than me. I imagine they’re your hands now, and I can’t help it. I need it, I need you.